


PICTURE PERFECT

by addictedtopeetamellark



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedtopeetamellark/pseuds/addictedtopeetamellark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss is in love.  Peeta is in love.  This is the most important day of their lives and everything is just picture perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PICTURE PERFECT

Modern Day AU Everlark. Rated M for sexual content.

 

—-

She was picture perfect. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing the smooth skin of her shoulders.

Her facial features were highlighted by the subtle touches of make-up. Not that she needed to wear anything. Her beauty was natural and raw and didn’t need enhancing.

Her body was covered in silk and lace as the long gown she wore flowed over her curves like water. With the exception of the enormous and gaudy diamond earrings she was forced to wear ( a family heirloom) she was understated, the epitome of elegance and simplicity, a timeless and unforgettable beauty. Just what a bride should be, graceful and classic and hadn’t taken her eyes off of me all evening.

Now that I hold her in my arms, with a distance between our bodies that is considered appropriate for the company present, I relish in her warmth as I twirl her around the dance floor, committing the scent of her perfume to memory. Never wanting to forget the way she looks tonight.

Nobody knows her like I do. This woman whom I’ve loved since I was five years old, when she sang in music class and ran away with my heart. This woman who’s been my companion throughout the most important moments in life, every milestone, losing parents and loved-ones, growing-up, maturing, committing ourselves to each other-not only our bodies, but our souls as well. I know what makes her tick and what sets her off. I know exactly how to hold her when nightmares plague her sleep. I know when her scowls mean annoyance and when she’s amused. I can make her laugh even when she isn’t in the mood. I know her favorite color and how she takes her coffee. I know her favorite song and why after all these years, it hasn’t changed. I know her dreams and her fears. I know how to make her blush and how to make her flushed. I know when to give her space and when to hold her tight. This and so much more, the list could go on and on. She knows the same thing about me if not more, because she is the most observant person I have ever met, despite her apparent aloofness. I complete her just as much as she makes me whole.

Anyone looking at us dancing at this moment, would think her smiles are due to some humorous anecdote I have chosen to share with her (after all I am considered to be irresistibly charming or so I’ve been told.) and that the pretty blush that illuminates her cheeks is because of the happiness of such a joyous occasion. Everyone is unaware that not an hour ago, this woman had surrendered herself into the throes of passion, lost in the heat of my kisses, succumbing to the desire that only I can awaken in her. Now, I am not being arrogant or cocky. My confidence comes from years of cherishing this girl, what began as inexperienced awkwardness developed into deft expertise.

Lured away from the wedding reception to the hotel suite I had prepared earlier, she took advantage of the excitement the hired band had spread amongst the guests, to disappear. All the party traditions had been met, the meal served and eaten, nobody would miss her for half an hour. Nobody would miss me.

She stood in the middle of the suite looking at me as I filled two glasses of champagne. Her scowl expressed guilt while her eyes glowed with lust. But the electricity that runs between our two bodies is palpable, drawing one to the other with a force like gravity, much too strong to fight. She took her hand and turned to walk away as a shiver ran down her back from the finger I slid along her shoulder. I had been wanting to do that since she walked down the aisle. 

She nervously sat at the end of the bed taking a long drink to have something to do and avoid making eye-contact with me. 

I knew she was upset with me, the way she would refuse to look at me during the meal was clue enough. Then again the daggers she kept shooting at me while I danced with several of the female attendants, weren’t exactly very subtle. But isn’t that what is expected at weddings? She hated (has always hated) the amount of female attention that inevitably seemed to surround me. I can’t help it, I have always been popular among the ladies. I’ve been told that it’s because I’m charming and I have an enticing smile. I don’t think I’m charming, I am simply polite. My father raised me that way and not just to women but to anyone who claims my attention. And I don’t think I can help the smile, all I do is spread my lips apart and show some teeth. Whether other people are drawn to it or not is just out of my control. The only person I’ve ever wanted to actually charm is her and she knows it but that doesn’t matter.

She’s always been jealous, always seeing herself as insignificant and plain. Especially when she compares herself to some of the women that she thinks I “deserve”. I must admit, some of the girls that have shown interest have been incredibly beautiful, if I happened to be into the glamorous sort of thing (and for some reason she seems to think that all men are), which I am not. For my part, female attention has always been more of a curse than a blessing if I’m being honest. They say that I am handsome. I wouldn’t know about that, either. All I could ever do with my looks is shave and try and keep my annoyingly insipid blond curls under control. But I don’t care about that and I definitely don’t care about the women who make themselves available, either.

She has never understood the effect she has on me or the fact that in my eyes the sun rises and sets because of her. She’s often asked me why I chose her when I could’ve had my pick of so many others. Silly girl…silly and adorably impossible stubborn girl. I have never understood what she ever saw in me. I’m worthless or so my mother felt eager to point out rather often. But she always saw past all of that: my insecurities, self-doubt, my traumas and excessive baggage. She thinks she doesn’t deserve me no matter what she does or how many lives it takes her to do it. She doesn’t realize that it’s actually the other way around.

I walk towards the bed and kneel in front of her, spreading her knees apart with my hands. She turns to look at me, with apparent objection. She opens her mouth to speak but instead gasps as my hands run up her calf’s taking her dress with them.

“We can’t! The guests? The party? What abou-“

She couldn’t finish her sentence. My hands running along her thighs toward her center make her hiss, crumbling her resolve. She let’s go of a breathe she was holding, spreading her legs further apart, giving me direct access. I can’t take my eyes off of her. She is so beautiful. I push the expensive looking scrap of cloth to the side and let my mouth speak for me as I relish in her sex, making her moan. Between licks and flicks of my tongue, I bring her to completion. It didn’t take too long since she has been wound up tight like a tight coil all day long. The wedding jitters, as well as dealing with that annoying wedding planner in the very yellow wig and having to fake smile to all the well-wishing guests (not to mention having to keep an eye on me), she was due a much needed release.

I let her ride out the waves of ecstasy, while I remove my own clothing. She opens her eyes to see me undoing my tie when she stops me. She stands and turns her back to me. Without breaking eye contact, I move to lower the zipper of her dress hidden by a long row of silk covered buttons. I lay the dress across the couch, gently. It wouldn’t do to have the bride return to her reception in a rumpled gown.

Taking our time to undress each other between kisses and touches, neither of us speaks. It isn’t necessary between two people who atuned. We both know how we feel about the other. I pepper her neck with kisses longing to take my time in tasting every inch of her skin but I don’t. We can’t risk any type of “bruising” to show up. 

Another time.

I think to myself as I finish removing her lingerie. I reach up towards her hair to remove the veil but she stops me.

“Don’t. It was woven into my braid.”

She must see the look of confusion in my face when she suddenly drops to her knees, working through my belt and zipper. It isn’t until she takes me in her mouth that I realize how wound up I am as well. It’s also been a big day for me, filled with emotions and thoughts of just how different things will be as of today.

Overwhelmed by all the sensations that I fail to realize that she’s pushed me onto the bed. I let myself get carried away by the whirl of pleasurable craziness when I feel the tingle at the base of my spine that I quickly sit up and grab hold of her elbow, pulling her away from me while catching her mouth with my own in a deep kiss filled with promise.

Without breaking our kiss, we connect. As our bodies meld into one, we ride out the tension and stress and forget everyone and everything, holding on to one another, loving each other. It is when we are together like this when I feel powerful enough to take on the world, to conquer every single foe in this game of life and come out victorious. Nothing matters, just the two of us against any obstacle that may threaten our union. But ecstasy is a strong hallucinogen. It triggers a false sense of hope and makes you feel invincible ready to believe that in life all you really need is love.

I relish in the feel of her skin against my own. I look up at her face and see that she is as lost in me as I am in her. To know that for either of us there will never be anyone else who can make us feel with such intensity. We’re soul mates, that much was clear since the beginning of our friendship when we were children.

"I love you."

I whisper in her ear as I tangle my fingers into her hair and pull her down for a kiss. I know she loves me, too. Words aren’t her strong suit but despite her awkwardness, she’s managed to show me time and time again how deep her feelings run for me. And there is nothing I could possible deny this woman, even if I tried. I’d give her my own life if she wished. No sacrifice could be too grand if her well-being was at stake. I love her too much to ever stand in her way or hold her back. When it comes to her, I will do what is needed….always.

Even if that means giving her up.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, but no matter how tight my embrace it is never close enough. I almost wish I could pull her under my skin and never have to let her go. A little obsessive, very dependent, I don’t know. All I understand is that I need her like I need air to breathe. But time isn’t ours, and the bride is expected downstairs to make her rounds before the honeymoon getaway, even if my presence can go overlooked. 

What we began slow and sweet is now fast and hard. Our skin slides against the other, slick from the exertion. As I look up at her, I am in awe of how incredibly beautiful she looks in such a raw moment. Her screams of pleasure are bounding off the walls and branding themselves in my soul. We reach for the stars together and in each other’s arms find our way back to solid ground.

“I love you.” She says, as she lies over my chest, exhausted and out of breath. “I will always, love you!”

A tear rolls down her cheek, while others threaten to spill.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I say. “…none of that. This is a happy day and a blotchy bride will not do!”

She chuckles but in her eyes there is an emotion I am sure would mirror my own if I wasn’t so adept at keeping a neutral mask.

We clean up and dress once more. It takes her a bit longer. Why bridal gowns are so complicated is beyond me. When we are ready to leave the suite, she looks refreshed and radiant. Not a hair out of place. I give her a chaste kiss on the forehead.

We enter the ballroom separately as to not arouse any sort of suspicion. The party continues as if our absence never occurred. 

And we find ourselves in the middle of a dance enjoying each other’s company, when the band leader announces it is time for the bride and groom to leave. People turn and clap and I smile at the beautiful woman in my arms. She looks at me with despair in her eyes. I know she’s afraid. This next adventure is a big one and all I can do to comfort her at the moment is kiss her forehead and whisper in her ear.

“You’ll be alright.”

Her husband walks up to us and asks for her hand as I take a step back.

“Peeta…” she turns to me.

I chuckle to play off her nerves for not wanting to let me go. I turn to her husband as I give her a friendly hug.

“She’s nervous. My little girl is having separation anxiety, this will be our first time apart. Be gentle.”

He laughs taking her in his arms. She offers him a weak smile and turns to me mouthing “good-bye”

“Katniss” I call out to her as she turns to leave. “Bring me back a souvenir. I’ll be here when you return. Always.”

Her eyes tear up at the sound of our promise. Always.

I give her the biggest smile I could muster and wave to the happy couple as the rest of the guests clap or blow bubbles.

I’d like to say my heart is breaking as I see the groom’s car pull away but that would be impossible. I don’t have a heart, she took that with her.

Katniss was the most beautiful bride I have ever seen or ever will see. The thing is, she isn’t my bride.

If love was enough to make the world go round, then it would be me driving away with her in that car. We tried, time and time again we tried, but reality set out to prove that we could not be. It’s not that we didn’t function as a couple, it actually isn’t even about us. Yet, too many things, too many people, too many situations are keeping us apart.

I’m not saying that giving her up was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. When things started to turn in this direction I was angry and hurt and disappointed in myself for not being able to give Katniss everything and anything she needed. God only knows how may times I’ve wanted to punch her husband’s stupid smirk off his face. The arrogant bastard. That idiot doesn’t deserve her, even though he is potentially what’s best for her, now. I know (because subtle about his feelings he is not, and oblivious to his hidden messages I am not, another gift for which I should thank my abusive mother), that he wishes I wasn’t around, even though he thinks I am the brother she never had. There is something about him that I don’t really trust and there’s a manipulative vibe that keeps coming off of him. Katniss never picked up on it, but if he had his way with the wedding planning what is she to expect on a more intimate, everyday level? Not that it matters, she will always have me in the wings to fend for her. 

In the meantime I have the satisfaction of knowing that his wedding night was mine, that his wife was and always will be mine and that what happened earlier will probably happen again no matter how much Katniss tries to deny herself. She needs me as much as I need her and although it is not an ideal situation and I hate that our love story is reduced to me being the other person, I have to trust our love. I have to trust her and I have to believe that she will always find her way back to me, and sadly remind myself that we’re star-crossed lovers, soul mates, destined to fight their way back to bliss.

I hate having to let her go. I see red knowing that even though she will work her way around him tonight, she will eventually be in his arms. She should be with me. But she can’t. So today, as her best friend that I technically am, I swallowed my pride, held back my anger and reigned in my love and walked her down the aisle to give my Katniss away to another man.


End file.
